


I Can't Rest, I Can't Fight...

by Dividedpoet



Series: Without You [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Consensual, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con References, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dividedpoet/pseuds/Dividedpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Agent Barton, I do believe I don’t need to remind you how long I’m willing to wait where you’re concerned.” </i>
</p><p> <i>Clint smiled. Yeah, he remembered.</i></p><p>This is the story of how Natasha and Clint became soulmates. This is also the story of how Clint finally let Coulson love him.</p><p>Can be read as a standalone, chronologically takes places before anything else in the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Rest, I Can't Fight...

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Reference to severe violence and non-con/rape. Additionally, depictions of consensual sexual acts.
> 
> All interactions between Clint Barton and Phil Coulson are consensual.
> 
> A/N: This is my origins story of how Coulson and Clint got together as well as how Natasha came to be a part of SHIELD. I really didn't mean for it to turn into an almost 10,000 word fic, but there you. go. I know it has non-con warnings, but please give it a shot. There's nothing graphic, mostly just references. Though, this is definitely a trigger warning.
> 
> Also, this is part of my series, "Without You". You don't have to read the first two stories to read this, chronologically it takes place before anything else.

Coulson hated to admit it, but he didn’t know what to do when he lost his operative. He supposed it wasn’t so much that he lost Clint as it was Clint had somehow made himself not findable. It sounded silly, it did, but Coulson had realized very early on in Clint not checking in that it was much easier to think of him as lost than it was to think of him as dead. 

So Clint was lost and Coulson was a nervous wreck. 

They’d been in the mountains for 5 weeks on a recognizance mission involving the infamous and very pesky Natalia Romanova a.k.a. the Black Widow when Clint had missed his first check-in. Then a couple of days later, he missed his second. At the third missed check-in, Coulson was supposed to report his location and the situation back to SHIELD. 

He tried going out looking, but he always ended up getting lost in the snow and having to follow his markers back to the cabin. Luckily, before Coulson was forced to figure out how he should mourn his fallen charge, his phone range. 

It was Clint. He couldn’t hear Coulson but that didn’t really seem to matter because he had a very simple encrypted message: Ambushed. Don’t call SHIELD. Trust me. 

Normally Agent Coulson would balk at a request made so ridiculously against SHIELD policy; but it was Clint. If he said not to call SHIELD, it meant one of them would be in danger if he did. Coulson had been through too much to ignore that possibility. So he did what Clint asked; he didn’t call SHIELD. He also didn’t leave the little cabin that had been picked as their rendezvous point. 

He didn’t leave that cabin for nearly 2 months. 

Of course he’d spoken with Director Fury, you couldn’t simply disappear for 2 months and not have the boss asking about you. But, it was an easy and almost truthful lie. 

_“I believe Agent Barton is making some significant progress. Widow has been set up here for months. If we can keep our presence unknown I think we have a good chance of eliminating the threat.”_

 _Fury sighed over the line. “Look Phil, you do what you need to do in that wintery hell hole. You just make sure to not start any international wars and you bring me my Agent home.”_

_“Yes, Sir.”_

_The line clicked as Director Fury hung up. Coulson really hoped he was doing the right thing._

He hadn’t heard anything further from Clint. Every day he became more and more nervous; not an ounce of him thought Clint would go rogue which meant that more likely than not he was injured or lost; maybe he’d run into Widow, maybe she’d taken him down. It had been snowing for the last week, heavy at night and lighter during the day. There had only been a few bad snow storms, but a few bad ones were more than enough to bury a spy. 

He tried to remind himself that Clint was a specially trained secret agent and he would be fine, but it was times like these that were difficult; especially with the involvement of an elusive Russian assassin. 

It wasn’t until five o’clock one morning that Coulson heard the sound of something that wasn’t an animal coming out of the trees no more than 3 yards from his window. He was up with a semi-automatic in his hand before the noise had a chance to move any closer. And while he was up rather quickly, that wasn’t why the noise hadn’t moved any closer. There seemed to be a great effort going on. Coulson threw on his jacket before taking his gun for a walk outside. 

Looping around to the side of the house his window faced, Coulson could clearly see something moving near the line of the trees. It took a moment, but when his eyes adjusted he could see it was a-- 

His heart felt like it stopped. Red. Red hair. The sun was only just starting to peak up far off in the distance, but that wasn’t a kind of red that you missed. She was clearly struggling with something. 

If he were truly honest with himself, Coulson wanted to run back into the house. Sure, he was a well trained ex-army ranger, cop, and weapons expert among other things; he didn’t look like it, but Phil Coulson was very capable. However, this was _the_ Black Widow; she could put him through such excruciating pain that he felt like it would never end and then kill him all within 15 minutes. It caught him off guard, pulled his usually perfectly poised demeanor down around his feet. 

When she finally acknowledged his presence, her words shocked him. 

“Please help me!” She yelled it, obviously very upset, and Coulson didn’t think it was at him. In fact, there was so much panic in her voice that Coulson began seriously doubting if he’d gotten the woman’s description correct. There was no possible way this frightened creature could be the infamous Black Widow. 

When Coulson’s senses came back to him he automatically moved to place a hand on his sidearm as he began to walk forward. Widow, having probably seen that even in her frenzied state from so far away, growled loudly. “I could take the time to come over there and make you eat it, but he’s your damn agent and he’s alive!” 

Coulson’s body took over at that point, his brain not being fast enough to process the information he’d just heard and the implications involved in that information but his adrenaline telling him what to do anyway. He took off at a run for her position, suddenly able to make Clint out more and more clearly as he got closer, hand on his sidearm the whole time. 

Widow paid his weapon no mind and began speaking as soon as Coulson was within earshot. “He collapsed halfway up the mountain. I’d been supporting him but it wasn’t enough.” 

As Coulson’s flannel covered knees hit the snow he asked, “Injuries?” Like Widow was one of his soldiers. The way she spoke, if he let himself not think about it, she almost sounded like it. 

She didn’t even hesitate. “Hammer to the right ankle, baseball bat to the collarbone,” she began rattling the injuries off like any list she might be asked to recite and Coulson’s stomach dropped. “Kicks to the upper left ribs.” 

“Stable?” he asked, the same way he would question any agent. 

“Enough. After we escaped I splinted his ankle, it was the only wound I could do anything with,” she said. “Now, I honestly couldn’t tell you. We didn’t exactly have the luxury to take it easy up the mountain.” 

Coulson’s eyes widened, just slightly, at the word ‘escaped’. In his hurry, as the woman next to him had listed off hindering injuries, he assumed that they’d been involved in a fight. His brain immediately began filing through situations where individuals might be able to hold both the Black Widow as well as one of SHIELD’s top ranking agents. 

It wasn’t a long list and it included things like surprise quick dry cement baths and prison cells made entirely of fire. 

Shifting Clint onto his back from where he’d probably slid down when she just couldn’t hold him up anymore, Coulson could see how beaten to hell he was. The screams as he was rolled onto his back made it clear that Widow had been telling the truth about his collarbone. Additionally, when Coulson caught Clint’s bloodied hand he could clearly see that 4 fingers no longer had nails. That and his obviously broken cheek bone were added to Coulson’s mental catalogue of injuries. Widow had only listed the injuries that would have caused her to have to support him when he collapsed. 

It wasn’t long before Agent Barton begun to flail around, his injuries making him that much more desperate to not let anyone touch him. “Agent,” Coulson yelled, attempting to grab one of Clint’s swinging arms, maybe calm him. “Agent Barton,” he tried again as even Widow joined in on his efforts. The sight was truly heartbreaking. Clint had been through some bad stuff, Coulson already knew that having seen some of the situations from which the sniper had been pulled out. Regardless, it was always difficult and even as Clint’s arms flailed Coulson could see his hands had been broken and reset many times in the months he’d been gone. 

“Clint!” Coulson finally yelled, his voice almost pleading. 

When Clint realized he was on top of the snow next to Coulson instead of buried under it in the woods with faceless monsters pawing at him he turned his face to the older man. It was bruised and bloodied but it was giving way to an unmistakable, almost manic smile. Coulson immediately moved to begin checking for further injuries, like a head wound or internal bleeding, but as his hand moved toward Clint’s face the archer grabbed it. 

“I knew you’d wait for me,” Barton said, tone practically delirious. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.” Barton squeezed his hand and refused to let go. He did start trying to see around Coulson, however. “Nat, where’s Nat?” His tone was almost as frantic as Widow’s had been. 

Widow was next to him in a moment. “We need to get him inside,” she said sternly. Then the assassin and the SHIELD agent were working together to get their, for all intents and purposes, fallen comrade inside the cabin. 

\--- 

_2 ½ Months Earlier_

“That goddamn dirty little slut,” the man dragging Clint yelled. His accent was thick but fairly unidentifiable. Regardless, he sounded quite agitated. “I knew she’d fuck us over, man. When I get my hands on her she’ll get to see just what I do with pretty little mouths like hers.” 

_Well these seem like lovely gentleman,_ Clint thought to himself as they dragged him over another string of brambles. It was more than a little disconcerting that he couldn’t move his limbs. He figured it had something to do with that taser-looking thing; when the guy had pulled it out Clint hadn’t thought anything of it. He could withstand a few milliamps, no problem. But then they’d activated it and Clint had hit the ground. 

It didn’t take him long to figure out that the ‘red headed whore’ they kept screaming about was the same woman he’d been attempting to do reconnaissance on. 

_Oh, wow, she swindled you? Black Widow?_ No! _This is my surprised face,_ Clint thought to himself, already having made relative peace with the fact that for the time being he was immobile. At least now he was getting some information. 

Apparently, she’d done all the leg work in a project they’d started. But, of course, she’d been planning to take the prototype to a company that was offering her significantly more money for the device. They didn’t like that. They liked that the users were conscious because they wanted her to feel them punishing her. The way they were talking Clint might have actually shuttered if he had use of his muscles. If Widow had run he couldn’t say he completely blamed her; they wanted to split her in two. 

As far as they knew she’d left as late as that very morning and they thought Clint had something to do with it. _Fuck. This is not going to be fun._

Clint was very right about that. The first thing they did when they got the agent back to their house/base of operations was throw him down a flight of 17 stairs into a basement. 

17\. Uneven. Clint counted. It helped it hurt less somehow. 

Another thing he catalogued as he was going down was a redhead diving into an armoire in the corner of the room. _Huh._ His vision went black as his head hit the concrete. 

When Clint woke up both his arms and his legs were strapped to a chair with rope. Rope. He could work with that. Before he had a chance to, however, his body began shaking from the charge of an actual taser. 

“What the fuck were you doing snooping around our fucking property?” Irish, definitely Irish…and he’d had potato soup for lunch. How original. 

“My fiancé and I are staying up the mountain; we were interested in buying stock in a whole lot of crazy. You guys seemed perfect.” It wasn’t his top material, but his teeth were still chattering from the high voltage taser. It was really the best he could do. If they hadn’t searched him, Clint would have actually played himself off as a tourist on the mountain with his fiancé. Sadly, they’d found all five pistols on his person as well as his collapsible bow and about 7 small knives. No way in hell was he even trying to play that off. 

His snark was rewarded with another jab from the taser. If possible they’d turned the milliamps up and Clint’s entire body attempted to convulse out of the chair. 

“Don’t you try and be fucking smart with me, boy!” 

There was a severe tremor in Clint’s voice as he spoke but the words were not at all hesitant, “I’m already noticing that’s gonna be a hard thing to avoid, Patty.” 

This time the Irishman ignored the taser in favor of laying Clint out with fists that felt like cinder blocks. “Dean!” The other man had been quiet up until now. Special code about physical violence? Clint doubted it. “Leave him layin’ there, we need to be looking for Lilith. She couldn’t have gotten far.” 

The first man did as he was told and left Clint lying on his side, on a concrete floor, tied to a chair. Fun. 

Clint waited until he heard an ATV start up and leave before he spoke. “Lilith, huh? You don’t think that’s a little unoriginal?” He waited a few moments but his words didn’t earn him any response. He sighed. “I know you’re in here, sweetheart. Come on out.” He didn’t think it would be that easy, as if Black Widow would come sliding out of the wardrobe like a lost kitten. But he’d hoped maybe she’d spare him having to do the threat thing. 

He waited a few more minutes before giving a frustrated grunt. He did not have the patience for this shit. “Look, lady, I have no interest in having my toes systematically sawed off to protect a woman I know for a fact has killed upwards of hundreds of innocent people.” He winced as his body automatically tried to shrug at his next words. “I also don’t have any interest in handing any human being over to those psychopaths. Now, I think they dislocated my shoulder and it fucking stings. You help me up, maybe explain things a little bit, and I won’t start screaming stow away as soon as they get back.” He paused before adding as an afterthought, “Or, you know, you snap my neck right now ‘cause you’ve definitely been known to do that. But I don’t think that will help you get out of this room.” 

The door was solid steel, he’d seen that before they threw him in. No way they didn’t lock him in. 

Only a few more moments passed before, to Clint’s complete surprise and slight fear, he heard the unmistakable creak of old hinges. He couldn’t see behind him, of course, but suddenly his chair was being tugged on. Clint wasn’t too heavy and she clearly knew how to use leverage because after a few _painful_ tries, Clint was back upright. “Er, did you pick me up to go with the first option or is it easier to snap my neck this way?” he asked, a little curious when she didn’t come around to face him for a solid 3 minutes. 

There was a little huff of air behind him and then she walked around to the front of his chair. “If I was going to kill you, you would have been dead as soon as they shut the door,” she said somberly. 

“Yeah, okay, truth.” Clint swore he saw the corners of her mouth tilt up just a little, but the movement was gone in an instant. 

“You know who I am,” she reiterated. “And I know you’ve been on the mountain trying to gather information on me.” The last sentence was almost flippant but she continued before he could say anything. “What I don’t understand is why, if you knew I was in the room, didn’t you just tell them where I was?” She seemed genuinely baffled at the idea of a stranger not giving her up, even faced with torture, knowing what she’d done. 

Clint furrowed his eyebrows in near offense before remembering that this woman didn’t know him at all, even if Black Widow was supposed to be the great reader of people. “I spent the entire trip down the mountain listening to those men describe what they would do if they found you. Black Widow or not you would be just as incapacitated as I was and I would be a fucking monster if I just handed someone over to that.” 

She stared into Clint’s eyes for an almost uncomfortably long time before going back around him and slashing his ties. “We need to get out of here.” 

Clint nodded before letting out a little growl when he realized he couldn’t move his left arm. “Little help here?” he asked even though the idea of asking the Black Widow for any kind of favor was downright petrifying. 

She’d stopped halfway to the stairs and spun around without hesitation. Immediately she came around to his injured side. All of Clint’s nerves were screaming for him to recoil, but a little voice in his head told him to wait. The little voice was probably delirium setting in after his 6 hour waterless trek down a mountain, let’s be honest. But, fuck it. 

She quickly and efficiently slid the length of her arm under his armpit before grabbing and…, “Mother fucking Jesus Christ!” Clint allowed himself to yell as this crazed assassin shoved his shoulder back into its socket. 

“You let that settle, I’m gonna see if I can get that door open,” and she was off, running up the stairs. 15 seconds later she was flung backwards, down the stairs and onto the floor herself. She’d reached the top of the staircase, cautiously gone to take a look at the locking mechanism, and then discovered that they’d connected a charge to the door’s surface. She groaned as she pushed herself up off of the floor, muttering something in Russian. 

“I’m guessing that didn’t work,” Clint said, lifting himself out of his chair and rolling his shoulder. 

“Not so much, no,” she said, obviously with the wind still knocked out of her. At that point both spies began looking around the basement for a window, a vent, a patch of exposed dirt, anything. No luck. Neither of them were particularly surprised. 

When they heard the sound of the ATV coming back down the long driveway Clint was pretty sure he could see Widow weighing her options. He almost laughed. “I’m gonna need you to tie me back to the chair.” At her look he did snort. “I mean, leave me a little slack in the ropes so I can slide my hands out. I’m also gonna need you to climb back into your hiding place.” 

Widow didn’t hesitate to do as he said, clearly seeing it for the option most likely to keep her from being caught, but as they tipped the chair back sideways and she re-tied Clint to it, she asked, “Why?” 

Clint let his head relax onto the concrete as he checked that he could, in fact, slide his hands free if he needed. His feet were another story; he’d probably just have to let that freedom go. “You didn’t snap my neck,” he said simply. 

The fact was she was much more likely to get out if she made it look like they’d cracked his head open and they took the charge off the door not knowing they had anyone to keep in. Clint knew that Widow was aware of this. Still, she didn’t kill him. In his mind, that meant she had some kind of conscious. That or she was a person who repaid debts. Either way, Clint stood a higher chance of getting out himself with Widow at his side. And he could take a little torture. It was practically his day job. 

By the time the men flung the basement door open again Widow was in her hiding place and Clint was ‘strapped’ to the chair. 

As he lay bleeding on ground yet again after what felt like years but was probably only a couple of weeks later he idly wondered if it would have been easier, at the time, for Widow to just snap his neck. He heard the basement door shut and moments later soft hands were on his face. 

Natasha was cooing in Russian again, lifting his head up off the floor and trying to give him water. Yes, Natasha; Clint had found out that she preferred to be called Natasha. That’s actually what they’d been doing for the duration of their stay in that hellhole; Natasha would come out of her hiding place and do her best to minimize his pain while they exchanged anecdotes about themselves to pass the time. It had been slow going at first, but about when Clint had a finger nail pulled off with pliers and still didn’t out Natasha she began to trust him. At least trust that he wasn’t going to be the reason those goons got a hold of her with their creepy machine. 

One day while she was feeding him his half of the protein bar (they’d broken all of his fingers this time and she’d had to set them hastily with medical tape at his urging), she cleared her throat. “I like to be called Natasha,” and that’s where they developed their routine; her taking care of his wounds to the best of her ability while they spoke about all the various parts of their lives. 

Clint took a few gulps of the water before pulling back. “What day is it?” he asked. When Natasha told him Clint groaned. “Jesus, I haven’t checked in with Coulson in over a fucking month.” He wouldn’t actually call what he had done ‘checking in’, but he really hoped it counted. 

A week in to all of this Clint had told Natasha that if he missed one more check-in his handler was going to send SHIELD after him. She’d spent the next two days fiddling with a handful of disposable cell phones she’d had in her bag, both inhabitants of the room very aware that SHIELD would shoot Natasha on sight and then all of this would have been near pointless. 

They knew the phones didn’t get reception down there, they’d tried. But she thought maybe she could use parts from the other phones to boost the signal to one. It had worked, they were pretty sure. At least Clint had gotten ringing. When the line clicked and the call tone stopped Clint immediately began talking in code he knew only Coulson would understand. It was short, he didn’t know how long the signal would stay stable; he hoped Coulson trusted him enough to take his word. 

“Do you think he gave up?” she asked, not imagining that was likely considering what Clint had told her about Coulson and his knack for saving the sniper’s life. 

Unsurprisingly, Clint shook his head. “No, not Coulson. He wouldn’t give up on me.” _He’s in love with me._ Coulson didn’t know Clint knew, didn’t know he’d known for at least 2 years at this point. It didn’t matter; Coulson would never do anything about it. The man was by the book and Clint was too much of a wild card. Regardless, he knew his handler wouldn’t leave him on that mountain, he wouldn’t send SHIELD in to clean up the mess. 

Clint had to suppress a scream suddenly as Natasha pressed down on his clavicle. “It’s broken.” That didn’t exactly surprise either of them considering they’d taken a baseball bat to him that day. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Natasha snapped, not for the first time in their little vacation since she’d gotten to know Clint and started the task of making sure he didn’t die there because of her. “If I try and surprise them—“ 

Clint cut her off with the same reasoning he used every time, “That’s a fucking fat chance and you know it. We’ve talked about this, Tash. They’ll drop you, kill me for not telling them where you were, and then execute whatever plans they have to make you pay back your debt to them.” 

He figured it wasn’t about the money for them. If it had been about the money these guys would have killed Clint weeks ago. Instead, they tortured him for a few hours every morning before leaving him in there for the rest of the day with a bucket they never changed, a little bucket of clean-ish water, and a protein bar. He’d gotten fed up one day and broken the bigger one’s nose. They’d used their gizmo on him and then spent the next few hours drawing shapes on his legs with a knife, among other activities. After that Clint was even more determined not to let them anywhere near Natasha if he could help it. 

Natasha knew he was right, but she couldn’t help be angry, “They broke your ankle with a fucking hammer yesterday. They made you--” 

“And those things sucked. But as the one that experienced the pain, I think it’s up to me what happens next.” 

Natasha growled. “Goddammit, Barton.” Their conversation was halted by the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming. In seconds Natasha was back in the armoire, not a speck of evidence she’d ever been in the room. 

“I’m tired of having him here, Dean. I don’t think he knows where that bitch is and he’s a pain in the ass to keep,” one of the men whined as they walked down the stairs into the basement. 

“Pain in the ass? You fill a bucket with water and throw me a protein bar every three days. I’m easier to keep then a puppy.” 

The rattling of a chain followed by the sickening sounds of skin splitting and a bone cracking filled the basement. “Shut the fuck up,” and then a gun was being cocked. They’d never brought a gun down into the basement before. They’d never brought anything into the basement that either spy would have much luck with if they managed to get it away from them. But a gun; Natasha could do a lot of damage with that gun against these men. Two birds, one stone; she liked those odds. 

Based on Dean’s stance as his nasty rain boots moved in her direction, she could tell he was the one holding the firearm. As he moved closer and closer to her hiding spot an idea sprung up in her mind. The idea took form fully as Dean stopped with his back turned to her armoire. The idea was simple; stab Dean, get the gun, slit the Irishmen’s throats, get Barton back to his handler. She didn’t let herself think any further, she owed Clint at least that much. 

In mere moments Natasha had pulled a knife out of her boot and was sliding from the armoire. She knocked Dean’s arm in the direction of his partner before she slit his Achilles tendon. As she’d hoped he would, he squeezed the trigger and lodged a bullet firmly in the other man’s hip. Both men screamed, but Widow (she didn’t feel like she’d been Widow in months, hiding like a scared little girl) didn’t care in the least. In fact, she found the gurgling sounds both men made as they bled out incredibly satisfying. 

Now she just had to get Clint to Coulson; she’d heard a lot about his handler and if anyone was going to help them, it was going to be him. 

\--- 

_In the Present – SHIELD Cabin_

Coulson took care of stabilizing Clint’s injuries as Widow set up the fireplace. She was, very kindly, only moving places in the room that Coulson could easily keep an eye on her. His mind was racing as he tried to piece together what might have happened; how had Clint been captured, why were he and the Black Widow thick as thieves, and what happened to neutralizing the threat. 

Coulson looked over at her and could see she was shivering in her still wet clothing, her limbs looking frail in their own right. 

Everything he knew about this treacherous woman told him to kick her out in the snow or at least strap her to a chair mounted to the floor. But the way she’d looked for Barton, the way he’d called out for her, told the handler that the circumstances had changed. That didn’t stop him from covertly sliding his hand around the handle of the Ruger semi-automatic he’d hidden behind the couch cushions. 

“There are spare sweats in that bottom drawer,” with his free hand he pointed out a dresser positioned in the back corner of the cabin, which was essentially one big room that had been set up to look like a livingroom as well as a bedroom. “I would appreciate it if you would grab two pairs, one for Agent Barton as well as one for yourself. I would take it as a kindness if you didn’t try to climb out of the bathroom window after you changed; I would like to know what happened.” 

Widow’s eyes darted to Coulson’s hand between the cushions. She almost smirked, but with a nod she pulled herself away from the fireplace and tugged the aforementioned sweats out of the drawer. She handed one pair to Agent Coulson before taking the remaining pair into the bathroom to change. 

Coulson’s grip relaxed on the gun and after a moment of listening he began to systematically stripped his ward and replace his wet clothes with dry ones. 

He changed his own clothes after he’d gotten Barton bundled up on the couch. He also nuked a bowl of oatmeal for the probably very hungry agent. It didn’t actually look like he was developing a fever which ruled out Coulson’s most pressing worry. As for the injuries and the apparent malnutrition, oatmeal was the best he had and he’d stabilized all of the actual injuries. He wouldn’t be able to do any more until SHIELD came to pull them out. Right, he’d flagged SHIELD as soon as he was done getting Clint out of his wet clothes. It was just approaching 7 am and Widow would have until nightfall to explain what had happened and why Agent Barton was obviously so keen on saving her. Only after Coulson was satisfied would he decide what to do with her. It wasn’t malicious, it was logical; he needed all the facts. Clint’s injuries would hold until then, they would have to. If he had gone to the trouble of telling Coulson not to call SHIELD, he obviously wanted to protect her. Coulson wanted to know why. 

He resettled himself on the couch next to Clint, having grabbed a bunch of pillows to try and make the injured agent as comfortable as possible. Clint immediately shifted to lay his head on the pillow in Coulson’s lap and settle his body against the other agent’s. It was all very intimate, very safe, and felt exactly right. 

When Widow came out of the bathroom she looked significantly warmer. Without pause she moved toward the couch and then curled onto it at Clint’s feet, sitting so she could slide her toes just under his bent legs. It also seemed intimate, especially considering whom Widow had been to them a few months prior. 

Before Coulson could open his mouth, Widow began speaking. “My name is Natasha Romanov and your agent saved me from being made an example of by my,” Natasha paused to clear her throat, “Horrible business venture.” 

Coulson furrowed his eyebrows and Natasha let lose a humorless chuckle. “I deal in dirty deeds, Agent Coulson. You know that,” she began. “I became involved in the manufacturing of a chip that would incapacitate its wearer. It was intended for distribution only to certain military personnel and it was being made under the table for a lot of money.

“I set up their accounts, I oversaw their programming, I was in charge of hiring the programmers themselves,” she paused, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “They didn’t want me involved in the actual programming.” _Smart,_ Coulson thought. 

”Of course, I’d given myself quite a few outs as well as assembled a very intriguing black book on their operation. But my reading was off, my timing, and they came after me much sooner than I thought they would.” 

Coulson’s lips had formed a thin line, “And what, exactly, does this have to do with my Agent?” 

“I’ve been watching you since your detail cleared the mountain,” she said by way of response. Coulson knew he shouldn’t have sent the excess agents away. “I was actually impressed; I didn’t know the two of you were here until I saw them coming down. There were too many and I knew the one house on this side wouldn’t fit that many.” 

“So you didn’t try to kill us in our sleep. Fantastic,” Coulson said before damn near rolling his eyes. “Continue, please.” 

“As I was saying; they came after me much sooner than I thought they would…” 

“That’s about when they found me.” Coulson was surprised to hear Clint pipe up from his spot on the couch before he pushed the bowl of oatmeal aside that Coulson was feeding him and tried to sit up a little. He obviously felt fantastic, having been forced by Coulson to take practically a whole handful of painkillers (SHIELD had the good drugs); his words were slurring but both people let him talk. “I was snooping around the property; it hadn’t been on any of the maps for the area and I wanted to know about it. I heard a pop and suddenly I couldn’t move my anything.” Clint shivered and then winced, the motion clearly having caused him some pain even through the haze. “They took me, like a scene from fucking deliverance. They dragged me into the house, screaming the whole way about Nat and how she’d left. Well, I didn’t know she was Nat at the time. Now I know she’s Nat.” Clint babbled the last bit before doing his best to look up at Coulson. 

The other man gave him an indulgent smile, trying not to portray how much fear he had of the technology there were describing and what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands. Clint sighed and snuggled closer to Coulson’s legs. 

“When they brought Clint into the basement I had just gone down to grab my bag.” Her tone betrayed her own opinion of that action. “It was an arrogant move, I will readily admit that, but it was done. When I heard the door open, I hid.” Coulson arched an eyebrow and Natasha actually sighed. “I liked my chances of taking these men down on their own; I did not like my chances of finding out what they felt the need to do to me if I became incapacitated.” With a slight nod of understanding from Coulson, Natasha went on. “They threw him down the stairs. I’d hidden in an old armoire they thought had a broken latch, but I could see through the slats at the bottom.” She licked her lips. “So for the next hour I watched as they questioned him. They didn’t do anything too long lasting; beat him up a little, threw some water in his face. But, it didn’t matter, because it was nothing--” 

Coulson felt Clint stiffen just before he spoke, “Tash. Please don’t.” 

“I was referring to the ankle, Clint.” Coulson also felt Clint’s shoulders relax and his heart absolutely dropped. He worked for SHIELD; he was trained in spot on intuition and the ability to keep a secret. His mind was filling in possible scenarios faster than he could put any logical filter on them and each one was more horrible than the last. 

\-- 

“It wasn’t something that happened regularly.” Natasha’s voice startled Phil out of his thoughts; luckily startled was a relative term and he’d heard her come in about 15 minutes prior, he’d just assumed she wouldn’t speak. 

Phil inclined his head in her direction before motioning to a chair beside his own near the fireplace. He’d allowed Natasha to have a nice, warm-ish shower hoping she’d do exactly this. The woman wasn’t stupid; she knew what information was worth. Phil imagined she was giving him a discount. With a quick glance behind him, Phil was reminded that the pain pills had finally knocked out Clint. Seven hours; they had seven hours until nightfall and Phil needed a few last stories as well as explanations. 

Natasha had taken the pre-offered seat. She truly was being a perfect house guest. “I know that you and I aren’t exactly on good terms,” Phil began very briskly. “I am quite aware that you’ve had more than a few unsavory run-ins with ‘my kind’. And I am very aware that we like to shoot at you…a lot,” Phil refrained from rolling his eyes. “I know--" 

“I’m sure you know a lot of things, Agent,” Natasha said suddenly, cutting Phil off without an ounce of hesitation. “I’m afraid I know a lot of things as well.” 

Ah, yes, the prisoner bond. Phil was familiar with it. Still, her next words surprised him. 

“I know that Clint talked about you every day; he talked about what a kind and wonderful man you are and how, even though he makes things incredibly difficult whenever humanly possible, he knows that you saved him from a terrible life and you weren’t about to stop doing that.” She paused, emotions bleeding out onto her face. “I know that he thought of you as that cretin shoved his pants down, as he pulled Clint to his knees.” She coughed and her only slightly shaken composure returned. “As I was saying; it wasn’t a regular occurrence and he wasn’t fully violated.” Her tone was almost clinical. It was incredibly disconcerting. “It happened once over the course of our imprisonment and only on that occasion; but it did require the use of the chip.” Her eyes darted around and Phil was reminded of Clint’s very similar safety-check tick. “He told me afterwards that he just thought of you; here in the cabin, waiting on him, worrying about him, loving him.” 

Phil, who had been staring very intently at the fire in an effort not to rattle apart with anger, slowly looked over at Natasha’s expectant face. “You’ll excuse me, I seem to have misunder--” 

“No, Agent, you heard me.” 

Phil ran a shaky hand over his face; he was surprised by the news of Clint’s awareness when it came to the handler’s feelings, but the shaky hands were absolutely still left over from Natasha’s tale. 

“I know this wasn’t his first run-in of that particular kind.” Those words absolutely startled Phil and it took everything in him not to shoot a look at Natasha. “He told me that his time in the circus had allowed him some varied experiences. Additionally, that over the years he’d been pulled out of a precarious situation or two that SHIELD was purposely not made privy too.” 

Phil didn’t understand this; Natasha was laying out a lot of cards, giving up a lot of information…“He told you I was the only one that knew?” 

“He told me that other than a handful of file clerks who didn’t know his files from Adam’s, you were the only one he felt would help him if he called and you were the only one that actually took the time to read through his hospital records from when he was a boy.” 

“Did he tell you that they actually used to claim the bruises on the inside of his thighs were from trick riding horses?” The words just kind of slipped out, the product of anger and confusion most likely. Still, he shook his head in an attempt to jump start his mental processes. “Why are you telling me this? You don’t think--” 

“There’s no real end game here, Agent. Not anymore.” Natasha paused for a moment, an action reminiscent of one collecting their thoughts. “I owe your Agent Barton not only my freedom but an eternal debt. I would try to explain my history, but…” she paused again, glancing at the wall clock. “It doesn’t look like we’d have enough time. What would you say, three hours?” 

One corner of Phil’s lips ghosted up in a half smirk. “Six and a half, actually.” Natasha’s eyebrows rose, only slightly of course, and Phil sighed. “I would implore you to have more faith, Ms. Romanov. But I understand how that would be incredibly difficult. You don’t need to explain your history to me.” 

Natasha nodded. “With one like mine as well as one like Agent Barton’s, you learn pretty quickly to do what you need to survive.” She glanced around yet again before fixing her eyes on Phil. “Clint ignored his instincts and instead weighed out what situation would result in both of our survivals based solely on the fact that I didn’t split his skull as soon as we were alone. Regardless of what happens to me in these coming days, I will make it very clear to him that is a sacrifice I’m willing to pay back with my own freedom.” 

Phil had been involved in many an interrogation; he had stared down numerous international threats as they begged to not be shipped off to SHIELD hell. He never imagined the Black Widow as the begging type (he’d watched her tapes, read her files repeatedly, he knew she wasn’t) but he also didn’t imagine she’d be the type to just lay down arms without a fight. If Phil were a good judge of character, he might think that the look in Natasha’s eyes said she was being absolutely honest; this was for Clint. 

“You’ll understand if I’m a tad skeptical,” Phil said, eyes darting over to check on his agent. 

“And I do. But, I’ll ask you to attempt to trust this; Agent Coulson, I am not a good person. I know that. I have done a lot of things that have resulted in the deaths of a lot of people; innocent and guilty alike. My motivations are my own and they typically involve helping myself. Ultimately, I was programmed to live. Clint went through terrible things to make sure that happened. That means I owe him a life in solitude if that is the decision made, because it is still a life and he gave that to me.” 

Phil just sat there for a moment, considering Natasha’s words, before he finally spoke. “They’ll want to put you through psychiatric evaluations,” he paused for a moment, “A lot of them. Also, they’ll want you to run field trials. We can probably skip the background check, I don’t think that will be very helpful in this instance. But--" 

“Excuse me?” she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. 

“To assess your usefulness as an agent,” Phil simplified. “I can make the recommendation, and I assure you Ms. Romanov, my recommendation is a very good one to have. But, ultimately they have to assess whether or not you would be a liability.” 

Natasha’s gaze had gone from weary to confused in only a matter of moments. “I don’t understand,” she said simply. 

Phil looked over at Clint again, asleep on the bed surrounded by pillows in an attempt to keep him even moderately comfortable while they waited for SHIELD (and SHIELD medical). “He’s obviously told you a lot about me in your time together; at least I assume since you weren’t the one with a gun to my head.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Natasha nod in agreement and he felt his lips tug up. “So you probably know that he’s been my charge, on and off, for the last 5 years.” He pulled his eyes away from Clint to look back at Natasha. “Usually by default. Agent Barton has a knack for getting himself into trouble in an effort to complete the mission…” he paused and sighed. _What an understatement._ “He has been left in the field by handlers as well as other agents numerous times. He always makes it out, but often times just barely.” Phil fixed his eyes on Natasha’s, she allowed him to. “If you two are willing to risk your lives for each other at a time such as that when you knew next to nothing about the other, if you’re willing to drag my agent through the snow in a direction you know will most likely lead to your capture, I have to believe that you would take that out into the field like nobody ever has before. I need him to know that people won’t always leave him behind.” He took a deep breath, “I need to know that I won’t spend the duration of his contract making sure that our own agents aren’t the reason he doesn’t survive it.” 

“And if I decide that isn’t the life for me?” Natasha asked, her tone more testing than actually quizzical. 

“The door isn’t locked, Ms. Romanov. You’re free to leave whenever you’d like.” He looked at his watch. “You have about six hours now; I’m sure you could make it down the mountain in that time.” 

It only took a moment for Natasha to look antsy, and it was gone as soon as it came. “Call them. It’s gonna have to be sooner.” 

”Whatever you’d prefer, Ms. Romanov.” 

When they showed up about an hour later, to say SHIELD had a couple of guns trained on the house would be a gross understatement. Coulson was pretty sure they’d brought half the fucking field office. When he went out to meet the team leader the entire cabin had been surrounded. Natasha, thankfully, stayed inside with Clint. Coulson took the chip they’d stolen and the coordinates Natasha had memorized and brought them to Agent Jasper Sitwell who looked very weary as the SHIELD version of Life Flight made their way inside the house. 

“She’s not going to kill them, right? Do you know how hard it is to pass a SHIELD medical background check?” Sitwell asked, handing a clipboard over to Coulson. The first of the paperwork. 

“No, Agent Sitwell, she isn’t going to kill them,” Coulson trained his eyes on the clipboard and his ears on the noises in the house. “She saved Agent Barton’s life and brought us the location of known gun runners.” Yeah, she was the reason Clint was in there, but he would have gone down that mountain and been captured anyway and Phil never would have found him. 

They’d run background on the men off of Natasha’s description; Dean and Everett O’Reilly. They’d been IRA but dissent among the ranks had forced them out…meaning they’d run for their lives before they had their heads squeezed off with razor wire. Slitting their throats was fitting, in all honestly; though it probably wasn't gruesome enough. 

“Are you making a plea for her?” Sitwell asked, clearly incredulous. 

Before Coulson could really answer, Clint was brought out on a gurney and Natasha was brought out hands in the air. Not cuffed. He didn't want them to cuff her. She hadn't thought he’d have any say. She obviously didn’t know as much about him as she thought she did. 

“She saved Agent Barton,” Coulson said again simply as if it were enough of an answer. With that he handed the clipboard back to Sitwell, filled out and properly notated. He then followed Natasha into the non-medical helicopter. 

_Natasha Romanov, under consideration. Article 237, form 8B: Director approval._

\-- 

_A Week and a Half Later – Coulson’s Office on the Helicarrier_

Coulson looked up when he heard the knock on his open office door. 

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Clint’s initial cast had been taken off and they’d put him into a walking cast. He, however, was nowhere near being able to walk and he looked a little funny leaning on his crutches. His cheek was still swollen, still healing, and the fingers of one hand were still bandaged but now they were actually splinted and his healing nails were covered. 

Coulson nodded. “Yes, Agent, please take a seat.” He gestured to a chair on the opposite side of his desk. As Clint moved toward the chair Coulson stood from his own and walked around his desk so that he could lean back on it, now significantly closer to Clint. 

“For starters, I wanted to let you know that Ms. Romanov has completed her trials and is in the midst of her placement evaluations,” he began, eyeing the open door but deciding he’d rather not make Clint feel caged. He’d had enough of that in the last few months. 

Clint nodded, a smile blooming on his lips. “Thank you, Sir. I know she’ll be a great asset.” 

“It’s not necessary for you to convince me, Agent. I have little doubt that Ms. Romanov will make a wonderful agent.” _And babysitter._ “That brings me to my next issue--" Coulson cut himself off before shaking his head. This wasn’t right; he wasn’t doing this the right way. 

A very confused look had settled over Clint’s face at this point but there was something else that looked an awful lot like worry in the archer’s eyes. For some reason, that worry caused a sort of peace to settle over Coulson and soon he was speaking, “I’m going to need you to stop running everyone off, Agent Barton, as it is very important we find you and Ms. Romanov a handler.” Clint opened his mouth to speak but Coulson held up a hand. “I ask you to trust me when I say this isn’t a decision I’ve come to lightly. But with the circumstances the way they are, things simply cannot continue in the way that they’ve been.” 

There was fear in Clint’s eyes now and a bit of anger in his voice as he spoke, “And in what way, exactly, are the circumstances? How have they changed in the last couple months?” The words were accusing, honestly, and Coulson nodded. 

“You’re right, Agent, not a thing has changed; I’m just as in love with you as I was five years ago.” He paused. “Actually, that would probably be a lie; I imagine I’m more in love with you now then I was five years ago.” 

Clint didn’t speak. His eyes had gotten progressively wider as Coulson did, but he made no move to interrupt him. 

“I tell you this not to illicit any certain reaction out of you,” Coulson continued after a moment. “But simply so you’ll know.” He let his eyes drift down to Clint’s still confused ones and shrugged, “I’m only human, Agent.” 

Clint still didn’t speak, didn’t move, for a few minutes; he just stared at the middle of Coulson’s chest. Finally, almost as if struck by something, he lifted himself out of the guest chair. It took everything in Coulson not to recoil as he waited for Clint to make his way out the door. The archer didn’t. In fact, to Coulson’s surprised, the other man hobbled a little closer before putting his hand on Coulson’s shoulder to steady himself. 

“Alright, Sir, I’ll accept that,” he nodded along with his own words before looking Coulson dead in the eyes. “But you have to let me see something,” and his lips were on Coulson’s. It wasn’t subtle or even remotely romantic other than the fact that the fingers of Clint’s healing hand curl around his side and the archer hummed. 

“Agent,” it took everything in Coulson to speak the word against Clint’s lips before pulling back. “Please don’t misunderstand my intentions…” He trailed off as Clint began to shake his head. 

“I didn’t, so please don’t misunderstand mine,” Clint’s fingers curled tighter into Coulson’s side, awkward with the wrapping. “I’m yours, I’m ready to be yours, I’m ready for that.” Coulson furrowed his eyebrows and Clint rolled his eyes. “You can’t think you carried that and I didn’t know.” 

Coulson sighed. “I’d hoped, considering you never said anything.” 

Clint chuckled. “You, more than anyone, know how fucked up I am--" 

“That’s exactly why--" 

“And you more than anyone know that I obviously need something to come home to or at some point I’m gonna stop coming home.” At those words Coulson’s mouth snapped closed and Clint hurried on before he could see the horror that would surely show there. “That isn’t why I’m saying what I’m saying; the truth is, you’re exactly who I choose to come home to.” Clint forced Coulson to look him in the eyes. “You have to trust me, I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

It was times like that Coulson was reminded of something very important; Clint wasn’t the reason he’d kept this secret to himself. Yes, the archer had been through a lot and it would take them time to get past some of the physical aspects of that. But, he had always opened himself up to Phil. Now was no different. 

“The medical staff told me I’d sleep better if I stayed with someone I knew,” Clint went on suddenly after looking for and finding something in Coulson’s eyes. 

That night Phil took Clint home just to sleep and when the archer woke up shaking from a nightmare he was there to calm him down. 

\-- 

_One Year Later – Phil and Clint’s Apartment_

Clint felt arms slide around his waist as he stood at the stove and he smiled. “Don’t distract the chef,” he said before turning the burner off and spinning around in Phil’s arms. “Something bad could happen,” he teased. 

Phil’s eyes weren’t teasing and they weren’t light, they were hungry. In just moments he had the archer up against the kitchen table. 

“Fuuuucking shit,” Clint hissed as Phil’s hands slid under his t-shirt before dropping down and undoing his belt. He was obviously on a mission. 

In moments Phil had slid to his knees, pulling Clint’s now unbuckled pants down with him. Due to a lack of boxers he was greeted with the beautiful sight of Clint, half-hard and still growing. With a quick dart of his eyes upward, Phil wrapped his lips around his lover’s cock. 

Clint’s head tipped back and his mouth fell open. “Oh Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” He was rewarded with a pinch to his side as well as the tip of his cock hitting the back of Phil’s throat. After that he could really only let out gurgling sounds brought on by Phil’s licking and sucking and humming. Every few seconds the Agent on his knees would let Clint’s cock slip from his mouth before licking up the vein on the underside and running his tongue around the head. It didn’t take long for Clint to start shallowly thrusting, looking for some kind of consistent friction. Of course Phil gave it to him, he really couldn’t deny Clint anything; he re-wrapped his lips around that lovely cock and started up a beautiful rhythm, fingers digging into Clint’s hips. 

The archer attempted to hold out, he did, but he’d never been very good at delayed gratification. A few more times of the tip hitting the back of Phil’s throat and he was gone, emptying himself behind clearly smiling lips. 

As soon as the fog had cleared Clint was shoving Phil onto his back on the kitchen floor, intent on returning the favor. Phil didn’t beat Clint’s time by much, honestly. Once the archer curled his tongue it really was all over. 

Laying on the floor, both men panting after, Phil smiled, “Happy Anniversary.” 

Suddenly Clint rolled over and buried his face in the crook of Phil’s neck, whispering into the skin there, “Letting you love me was the best decision I ever made.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if any of this is plausible or not, so please forgive me. I just wanted to write a story that made me understand why someone like Black Widow would be so indebted to Clint. I've read a lot of wonderful stories that make that very understandable, this is just my take. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I don't have a beta, so feel free to tell me if you noticed any discrepancies. <3


End file.
